Ghost Recon: Terror Storm
by DrStrangelovPHD
Summary: Capt. Scott Mitchell, Rifleman Joe Ramirez, and Seargant Marcus Brown are Ghosts. They are the tip of the spear in USSOCOM operations. Most of all, their existence is secret. From Pakistan to the Kashmir Mountains, Nigeria, Somalia, to Yemen-wherever terror lurks its evil head, the Ghosts are there to destroy it. *MY FIRST GHOST RECON/TOM CLANCY FAN-FIC*
1. Chapter 01

**TOM CLANCY's GHOST RECON: TERROR STORM**

**ONE**

**North-West Waziristan  
Afghanistan-Pakistan Border  
22, January 2009 1253 hours**

Captain Scott Mitchell lay prone on the hilltop next to his fellow Sergeant and rifleman, Jose "Joe" Ramirez. Icy wind whipped at their clothing and the bite of frost was like that of a vicious Rottweiler hound.

Mitchell shifted the zoom in his binoculars and found three stone enclaves built a few yards from a spider-hole, and beyond that a cave entrance. He saw three people dressed down for the winter in flowing robes with surprisingly no weapons to be seen. They were having a conversation, presumably because of the rapid puffs of their respective hot breaths.

Ramirez interrupted Mitchell's recon, "I see three men, 200 yards east."

"Roger." Mitchell said, as he stood up and unslung his suppressed rifle, a wooden-stocked AK-47 with a red-dot sight and clamped magazines. His silenced M9 pistol was tucked into the webbing underneath his robes. Ramirez himself was also armed with a suppressed AK, the twenty-five year-old rifleman from San Diego, California was about to earn his pay in Mitchell's squad.

Captain Alicia Diaz, the team's sniper, was lying prone on the snow-covered hilltop overlooking the village. From inside the scope on her Soviet-era Dragunov rifle, she observed faint candles burning inside the two huts for visibility, as the three men who had once been talking broke up and went off in three separate directions. Diaz spoke into a radio on the sleeve of her winter uniform: "This is Diaz, the A'gans are moving, we're clear."

Mitchell grabbed Ramirez and moved down the hill to Diaz's position. Once they were at the bottom of the hill and linked up with the female sniper, Mitchell huddled next to her and Ramirez and tapped his earpiece that was linked to his tactical goggles. "Cross-Com activated." He said, clearing his throat.  
Although designed to keep their view fogging up from the snow, the goggles flicked on and shimmered blue, displaying Mitchell and his two colleagues as blue diamonds on his HUD (Heads-Up-Display). His rifle's target reticle and other bits of data flowed simultaneously through the monocle. The newly-designed Cross-Com system would link up to an Army satellite and beam every movement to his superiors back in Qandahar, Afghanistan. No smallest action would ever escape his superiors' attention.

And, with that, Mitchell gave orders to Diaz to cover their approach to the three huts. The hut to the northeast had a flicker of light on inside, so that was of most importance. The three-man patrol outside would have to be dealt with, however.  
Mitchell started up the hill and crouched behind a small stone wall. Just then, his Cross-Com Integrated Warrior System (IWS Beta) beeped a warning. Two red diamonds appeared on the profiles of two of the men walking around outside.

Ramirez saw this, too, and asked Mitchell for permission to take out the two sentries.

"Take them out, use your silencer." Mitchell cautioned.

In one fluid motion, Ramirez spun around from beside the stone wall into the open to face the lone sentry, trying to light a cigarette in the extreme cold. Ramirez threw the suppressed AK-47 to his shoulder and squeezed off two shots, both hit the man in the head, he collapsed to the snowy ground.

Mitchell was behind Ramirez, moved to his right and up a bit and out of his partner's line of fire. Mitchell pivoted and found the other sentry skirting leisurely, boringly, around the side of the second enclave. Before he could sight Mitchell and bring up his weapon, two silenced shots rang out, followed by a third, and the second sentry was dead.  
_  
Two down, one to go_. Mitchell thought.

Diaz's voice coolly relayed in his ear: "This is Green: no movement from the huts. You're all clear."  
The enclave nearest Mitchell and Ramirez was only fifty yards away, and Mitchell started towards it. Suddenly, the remaining sentry called out in Pashto, _"Wahid, you got a cigarette?" _

Mitchell snapped his rifle into position and sighted the target, appearing as a lone red diamond on his HUD. This sentry had his AK out and was walking towards  
Mitchell. Maybe he didn't fire because Mitchell's robe and all-too-concealing balaclava signaled him as a friendly. The man held out one hand in a "gimme" motion, his other hand clutched his rifle.

Mitchell fired a burst and a total of six slugs hit the man in the chest and abdomen, felling him.

Ramirez came up behind Mitchell, "Filthy habit." The young rifleman quipped.

Mitchell hissed at him for silence, put a finger to his lips, and pointed towards the lit enclave. "Clear the hut, now!"

Ramirez straightened up, nodded, and went towards the closed wooden door. He drew his silenced pistol and started inside. He saw two men sleeping on cots, one of them next to an AKSU-74 assault rifle. Before he could get to it, Ramirez fired twice at both sleeping men. Two sets of _fwips_ put both men at eternal rest. He backed out of the room and rejoined Mitchell.

Mitchell cocked his head at Ramirez, who responded, "No sight of our VIPs, Captain."

Mitchell looked towards the second hut, the door half-open. He went towards it, pulled it open to find another sentry wearing a tactical chest rig over his robe stuffed with AK magazines. An AK-47 rifle and a Makarov pistol lay on a small table beside him, with two Russian-style fragmentation grenades and more magazines and loose rounds. He was smiling in his sleep, and Mitchell fired his suppressed rifle once into the man's forehead, not letting him get to his personal armory.

Mitchell took stock of the man's condition, nodded in approval, and stepped out of the second hut to find Ramirez covering his partner.

Diaz's voice rang, "Ghost Lead, this is Green, a lot of silence over there, agree, over?"

"Yeah, yeah." Mitchell said. "A lot of dead Taliban here, still no sign of our VIPs."

Diaz offered a solution, "Might we look in the cave?"

_Who knows._ Mitchell thought. Going into a cave was a first-time experience for him. He knew that Al-Qaeda terror kingpin Usama Bin Laden was in this region of the Afghanistan-Pakistan border with remnants of his terrorist organization protecting him, as well as a thousand armed Taliban extremists. But their mission wasn't the capture/kill of the "mastermind" behind 9/11; it was the disappearance of two CIA operatives undercover in the North-West Frontier of Waziristan. They had been missing for a year, and the boys at Langley, Virginia contacted the Ghosts in Fort Bragg, North Carolina for help in finding their missing agents.

Captain Scott Mitchell of Blessing, Ohio, Master Sergeant Joe Ramirez of San Diego, California, and Chief Warrant Officer 02 Alicia Diaz, born in El Paso, Texas were Ghosts. People like them, battle-hardened and award-decorated men and women who were built to take on dangerous operations in the War on Terror and elsewhere.

Mitchell looked towards the spider-hole, an opening for Taliban and Al-Qaeda fighters to move into the cave undetected from the air. He radioed to Diaz, "Green, regroup on me." And then he ground his teeth in nervous anticipation.

This job was just getting harder. 


	2. Chapter 02

**TOM CLANCY's GHOST RECON: TERROR STORM**

**TWO**

**North-West Frontier, Waziristan  
Pakistan-Afghanistan border  
22, January 2009 0100 hours**

In the depths of the cave, Mitchell couldn't help but remember a quote from Bruce Willis' character during the classic Christmas action movie, _Die Hard_. _"Now I know what a TV dinner feels like_._"_

Before he and Ramirez and Diaz moved inside, they took a second to activate their nighttime optical devices (NODs). Their night-vision capability was also linked up to their Cross-Com IWS system. Mitchell moved forward on point, finding and shooting two unaware Taliban in the cave, their rifles slung over their backs. After some more searching, they cleared the cave of three more Taliban extremists before reaching the end. Another spider-hole was the way out. Mitchell pressed on the wooden frame and opened the pathway to the outside. Once they were out of the cave, Mitchell found himself looking at two more enclaves and, surprisingly, a Russian anti-air gun.

A light showed in one of the enclaves, followed by a scream. Mitchell exited the cave with Ramirez, looking at him and deciding not to take their time clearing out the huts. The one with the light inside was the one where the two CIA operatives were being held.

"Go hot!" Mitchell barked as the rules of engagement (ROE) was switched from "infiltrate/fire when fired upon" to "assault/fire at will".

"Roger." Ramirez smiled, switching his AK from single-shot to full-auto.

With Diaz covering the two men's approach to the hut, Mitchell and Ramirez broke into a full-on sprint. More screams emitted from the hut, echoing throughout the untamed mountains.

Mitchell drew his silenced M9, moved up to the door and, with Ramirez following behind, kicked open the door and glided into the hut.  
Two men were in the hut, watching over their two prized captives. Both captors were wearing balaclavas and camouflage fatigues. They clutched G3 rifles, issued by the Pakistani army, now in Al-Qaeda hands. Extra magazines and grenades were on chest rigs harnessed to their fatigues. One nearest Mitchell was holding a freakish, curved-bladed knife over one of the CIA operatives, who were hooded with sacks over their heads.

Mitchell fired one shot from his M9 at point-blank range, hitting the AQ torturer above his left ear, dropping him immediately. Then, a millisecond later, Ramirez floated  
into the hut and fired his AK at the second Qaeda insurgent, a 7.62mm bullet blowing his face apart.

Mitchell yanked off one of the burlap sacks on his hostage, now-safe, but wriggling uncomfortably in his chair. As Mitchell tossed the sack aside, the face of a Caucasian male stared up at him with painful black eyes. He was gagged so he couldn't speak. He gave out a muffled scream of surprise, thinking Mitchell was a Taliban extremist.  
He tried to turn and roll to upset the chair, but Mitchell called out in an Ohio accent, "Clear!"

The man in the chair stopped squirming and looked up as Mitchell removed the gag from his mouth. Ramirez was doing the same with the other prisoner. These were definetly the two CIA operatives that Langley had been feared dead.

Next to Mitchell was CIA operative Michael Nichoulausen from Dixon, Illinois, code-named "Pharoah". He sported a reddish beard and black eyes, making him fit the profile of a Taliban or Al-Qaeda extremist. Nichoulausen suffered cuts and bruises, but was otherwise alright. His hands were bound behind his back with heavy police cuffs.

Being helped by Master Sergeant Ramirez was the other CIA operative Toby Hannson from the small town of Cado, Oklahoma, code-named "Tiger". He was clad in robes, with a full beard and brown eyes. Hannson was cut up with knife wounds to the left cheek and across his chest, leaving bloody slits.

Mitchell seemed elated, having saved the hostages, but he heard two sets of voices in Pashto asking why the door was open. Mitchell spun around with his pistol up and saw two more Al-Qaeda insurgents, dressed in camouflage with G3 rifles, coming towards his hut.  
_  
Boom, Boom!_

Two distinct shots, deep and loud, from a high-powered rifle, cut through the howling wind and planted themselves in the two insurgents. They fell to the ground with blood leaking from massive wounds in their heads.

Mitchell gaped in awe over having survived this surprise.

Diaz chimed in on the radio, "Ghost Lead, two targets down."

Then, the sound of automatic fire from the enemy popped and boomed as two more Taliban emerged from the second hut and started towards Mitchell and Ramirez,  
who were cooped up with both hostages.

Diaz fired again and again, and both Taliban were silenced.

Mitchell cursed at having broken noise protocol, he was sure that the whole of Waziristan had heard the unsuppressed rifle fire and that every AQ and Taliban militant were converging on him from all sides. Seconds passed, and there was no more resistance.

"Hey, Captain, look at this." Ramirez butted in.  
Mitchell radioed Diaz to provide over watch and went towards Ramirez, who pointed out a small video camera on a tripod, pointed at the two hostages who were now freeing themselves of their bonds. "This was supposed to be a videotaped interrogation." Ramirez stated.

"Like the CIA waterboarding tapes, eh?" Mitchell chuckled. The 29-year-old Captain from Youngstown, Ohio would seize this tape as evidence, hoping to prevent more CIA contacts from falling into A.Q. hands. He then picked up a G3 rifle from one of the fallen Al-Qaeda interrogators and handed it to Nichoulausen, asking him, "Can you fight?"

"Who are you?" Nichoulausen pressed, "CIA, Delta, SEALS?"

"We're Ghosts." Mitchell responded with a cutting edge to his voice.

"In that case, I can fight." Nichoulausen nodded.

"Good. There's going to be a big explosion very soon, don't worry about it. We're going to destroy that AA emplacement and then call in a chopper for evac. We're going to get you home."

"Thank you, Sir." Congratulated CIA operative Toby Hannson.

"There's no need to thank us, _mano_." Ramirez replied, "Because—"

"Because we don't _exist_." Mitchell finished coldly.


	3. Chapter 03

**TOM CLANCY's GHOST RECON: TERROR STORM**

**THREE**

**ISAF Coalition Fire Base "Silva"  
Afghanistan-Pakistan border  
22, January 2009 0215 hours**

Although Sergeant Marcus Brown was born in the Windy City of Chicago, the weather he encountered in Afghanistan made him miss the warm apartment on the 22nd floor of Liverpool Arms. Brown was inducted into the US Army during the mass of recruits that flooded in in the weeks and months after 9/11. Brown remembered vividly coming home to his apartment in Chicago with a 40-oz beer bottle wrapped like an artillery shell in a brown paper bag. His girlfriend was watching TV on the couch, her hands up over her mouth in horror. "Marcus," she said, "Baby, there's been a plane crash in New York…at the World Trade Center."

It was 9:02 a.m.

Brown sat down next to his pregnant girlfriend of two years and watched as CNN cameras caught a panoramic view of the Trade Center towers, one of them in flames from the 96th floor up. Then, a blur hurled out of the picturesque blue sky and disappeared behind Tower One, impacting the second tower at 9:03:02 a.m.

The 40-oz beer bottle dropped to the ground, shattering upon impact. There was no doubt that America was under attack. When he heard that—at 9:37—an explosion at the Pentagon in Washington DC, and, at 10:15, a plane crashed into a field in Pennsylvania only confirmed his suspicions.

Brown was a rebel against his parents, against teachers at school, and against nature. He had the makings of an original gangster, but he decided to channel his anger and hatred for terrorists by enlisting in the US Army and becoming the tip of the spear in Afghanistan in the hunt for Usama Bin Laden and his number-two man, Egyptian terrorist Dr. Ayman Al-Zawahiri. Brown had a love interest with weapons, including knives.

He treated a BlackHawk Masters of Defense double-serrated combat knife like an American Express credit card—don't leave home without it.

Alas, he couldn't forget his parents' reaction to joining the Army. As American flags hung on every porch in Chicago, his mind was set.

"_The Army?!"_ his mother shrieked, "What are you _thinking?!"  
_  
His father screamed at the top of his lungs, "I was the first person in my family to get a college degree! A _graduate degree!_ I'm making a new future for myself, my family, my people! I'm planning to run for mayor of this city and move forward! And all you do is to go backwards!"

Brown remembered his father kicking him out of the house after the argument became more heated. He never saw himself in a city council meeting, dealing with politics. He saw himself on the battlefields of Afghanistan and wherever terrorists thrived. It was two months after 9/11, and already America was howling for blood and wanting some payback.

And Marcus Brown, then 21-years-old, was ready to give it to him.

So, he visited his local recruiter in Chicago, stayed off pot for two months to pass the drug screening, and kept his anger hidden until basic training. He was shipped off to Afghanistan in January 2002 as a contingency to train the ragtag, anti-Taliban Afghan National Army (ANA). It was then that Brown proved himself useful with knives and close-quarters-combat, and demonstrated perfection with the light machine gun—or Squad Automatic Weapon (SAW)—as well as earning two Silver Stars during his first tour in Afghanistan.

His superiors noticed Brown's progress, and immediately referred him to Special Operations Command (SOCOM), serving in search-and-destroy missions throughout Afghanistan and the tri-border area. It wasn't until now, January 2009, that his path was about to be crossed by Captain Scott Mitchell, head of Ghost Team Alpha, then the best and secretive quick-reaction-force in the US Special Operations chain.

"Captain Mitchell," ordered Lieutenant Colonel Harold "Buzz" Gordon of Ghost Command, "meet Sergeant Marcus M. Brown." It was then the two men revealed themselves. Mitchell was still dressed in his artic clothing from the previous mission, the robes and _sharwa _face wrap, looking like a Taliban extremist.

Brown, dressed in tan camouflage fatigues with a tactical chest rig stuffed with grenades and M4 magazines, shifted his fatigue hat forward and nodded at Captain Mitchell, who tugged down his face wrap to reveal a scraggly beard, haven grown it during his first tour in Afghanistan. "Sir," Brown said, "Good to meet you."

Mitchell asked Lt. Colonel Gordon about the purpose of this introduction. Gordon replied, "Captain, Brown has been handpicked from USSOCOM to be a part of the Ghost team."

"What are his qualifications?" Mitchell asked a probing question.

Brown spoke up, "I'm a light-machine gunner, effective with NATO and enemy weapons, and I can keep my shit together under pressure."

"And his Arabic's not that bad." Gordon replied.

"What about your Pashto?" Mitchell probed.

"I pick up a few slogans here and there."

"D'you speak Urdu?"

"What?"

"Exactly." Mitchell laughed. "Enough, I need men who I can rely on in the field who's fit for service. You're in."

Brown beamed, "Thank you, Captain."

Lt. Colonel Gordon butted in, "Well, then, this concludes our introduction. Tomorrow we have a special assignment tasked to you. We'll brief you in the air, wheels up at 0900. Dismissed."

Mitchell walked out of the tent, followed by Brown. They got back to their barracks and paused for a moment for one last word before hitting the sack. "I won't let you down, sir."

"I have faith in you, Sergeant. Don't worry, you'll do good."

"Good." Brown smiled, "'Cause you ain't seen nothing yet."


	4. Chapter 04

**TOM CLANCY's GHOST RECON: TERROR STORM**

**FOUR**

**Airspace over Northern Baluchistan  
Pakistan  
23, January 2009 01000 hours**

The MHX-60 Black Hawk helicopter glided over the border into Pakistan, staying below local radar coverage. The helicopter was equipped with top-secret stealth technology on its rotors, so that locals, not even a goat herder, could hear it coming.

Mitchell and Brown, as well as Rifleman Sergeant Ramirez and team medic Alex Nolan, were packed into the chopper along with two men from Pakistan's chief Intelligence agency. Although the Inter-Services-Intelligence (ISI) was believed to be corrupt and couldn't be trusted during the global War on Terror, Majed Marqez and Ahmed Al-Janoubi, the two Arab men in the chopper, had cross-trained with the American CIA and Delta Forces in hopes of capturing key members of the Al-Qaeda terror network. In past months, planners, financers, logisticians and sleepers of the 9/11 attacks were rounded up in Pakistan and as far away as Spain and the United States.

However, the "mastermind" UBL had eluded them, and was currently hiding somewhere in Pakistan, supposedly with help from rouge elements within the ISI.

UBL wasn't the target for today's mission, as Mitchell found out. Using shared Intelligence from the CIA and their operatives Pharoah and Tiger, who were rescued in northern Waziristan by Mitchell just hours before, had pinpointed a key arms trader inside Al-Qaeda and other Islamic militant groups like the Kashmiri liberation organization LeT. Mitchell had a first-generation iPad tablet computer in his hands, and he began to talk to his team and to his colleagues as the Black Hawk cruised towards Islamabad, the capital city of Pakistan.

"Okay, so the guy we're after is an arms trader named Mohammed Habib." Mitchell began the briefing in the air. The picture of a man in full Islamic dress and sandals showed on the screen. The man had a soul patch of hair on his chin and a completely-bald head, looking to be at least forty years old.

Mitchell kept up the running commentary, "Habib is the man wanted for selling the weapons to the Al Qaeda-linked Chechen extremists who perpetrated the Beslan school massacre in 2004, the militants who attacked the Khobar Towers in Arabia, and, most recently, the gunmen attacks in Mumbai in November 2008. As of now, he's running Chinese arms to the Taliban in Afghanistan. The CIA operatives we've rescued last night were supposed to assassinate Habib and dismantle his organization, but were blown and captured by Al-Qaeda operating in the region. Our mission, given to us by the CIA, is to kill Mohammed Habib."

ISI Agent Ahmed Al-Janoubi spoke up, "Captain that is not all. We have reason to believe that Habib is in possession of critical Intelligence on arms shipments to places like Southeast Asia and Africa. You are also to seize documents pertaining to this."

The Black Hawk pilot suddenly radioed to Mitchell and his team, "Thirty seconds, Captain."

The two ISI men also radioed their men on the ground. About twenty Pakistani ISI commandoes were surrounding the target building where Mohammed Habib was hiding out. ISI and Ghosts were to work in concert to prevent Habib's escape and to assassinate him. The seizure of all critical Intelligence was to occur after the murder of their high-value target (HVT).

Captain Mitchell said to his men, "Ghosts, we're walking into a Pakistani compound. Time for us to kick in the front door."

Sergeant Marcus Brown replied, "Hoo-ah!"

Mitchell hushed Brown. "We'll clear the compound while Pakistani forces surround the outer perimeter, cutting off any escape routes. Do not—I repeat—_do not_ engage the Pakistani forces."

The Black Hawk's engines slowed to a hum and died as the massive utility helicopter touched down in a field just five hundred meters away from the target compound, a tall building with an imposing six-foot concrete wall and barbed-wire fence.

Mitchell cleared the helicopter and rallied with his men beside a low concrete wall. He checked the action of his M4A1 assault rifle, equipped with a tactical sight—and patted his ammunition pouches on his chest to make sure his 360 rounds of ammunition were snug. He touched his monocle, and his IWS lit up the surrounding environment, as if he was in a video game. "Cross Com activated."

Rifleman Sergeant Ramirez took point and peeked through the ACOG scope of his M4. Two Land Rover Defender 4x4s were parked outside of the compound's gate. As he watched through the rifle scope, the Pakistani ISI, driving in similar 4x4 SUVs, pulled up sharply and blasted their way through to the gates. Ramirez gawks openmouthed, "Captain, are you seeing this?"

Captain Mitchell observes this as well. He grinds his teeth in anger and desperation. _So, the Pakistanis want to play cowboy, eh?_

Team medic Alex Nolan suggested, "Captain, we should move now if we are to secure that compound."

"Right!" Mitchell grunts. He stands up, vaults over the low wall, and starts down the hill, yelling into his radio to get the Pakistani's to cease-fire, as well as get there in time to secure the perimeter. "Lion One-One, this is Ghost Lead, cease-fire—I repeat—_cease-fire_!"

Ramirez and Nolan follow Mitchell as the Pakistani forces continue spraying rounds from their RPK machine guns. A grenade goes off, kicking up a cloud of dust.  
Then, a shootout starts from within the building. A gunman opens fire on the roof with an assault rifle at the Pakistanis. The ISI neutralize him, but he is replaced by another man, who aims at Captain Mitchell and his team rushing up the driveway towards the Pakistani friendly forces.

Mitchell hits the ground as soon as the bullets kick up the dirt around his feet, dancing him. Flat on his belly, he aims his rifle up to the roof and rakes the gunman, felling him. Then, all is quiet.

"Well, that was quick!" Ramirez says, getting up from the ground to join Mitchell. "Now let's go kick in the front door!"

"Right, Brown, put a charge on the fence." Mitchell orders, while he raises his M4 to cover Brown, looking at the compound's windows to neutralize any squirters.  
Marcus Brown slings over his M249 SAW machine gun and rushes up to the compound's heavy gate—a big chunk of metal that was locked shut. A well-placed charge of C4 can dislodge it permanently. Brown tacks the C4 onto the gate, sets the timer for eight seconds, adding in a two-second delay. He takes off in the opposite direction; shouting at the Pakistani's to get back.

The blast is incredible; the door is blown open and parts an entrance like the Red Sea. Immediately, however, the compound erupts with machine gun fire. A shooter appears at one of the windows, and Brown pulverizes him with the SAW.

Mitchell moves in, radioing, "Brown, secure the outer perimeter. Ramirez and Nolan on me. We're going after Habib."

Then, just as the threesome received Captain Mitchell's commands, there was a buzz and a crackle as USSOCOM from Fort Bragg, North Carolina came into Mitchell's HUD. General Keating instructed, "Mitchell, the Pakistani forces will secure the guest house and motor pool to the compound. Your job is the termination of Mohammed Habib, over?"

"Yes, sir." Mitchell replied as Ramirez and Nolan go over to him. They formed up on the door, finding it locked. It was soon dislodged with a breaching charge, allowing Ghost Lead to enter. They came upon two insurgents dressed in black pajamas, red _keffiyahs_ on their heads, loading AK-47 rifles. Mitchell took them both out, then crossed the sparsely-furnished room and up the stairs, swinging his M4 to cover all the corners.

Ramirez stepped into one room on the second landing, finding two women and a child huddled under a bed. As soon as Ramirez showed himself, one of the women harassed him in Arabic. _"You pig! Go away! Leave us alone!"  
_  
_"Lo siento!"_ Ramirez apologized in his Spanish vernacular and sidestepped quietly out of the room.

Mitchell and Nolan entered a room on the second floor, an AK-47 propped beside the wall. Mitchell pulled back, put a finger to his lips and tugged out a flash-bang grenade from his webbing. He threw it into the room, the magnesium charge producing a bright, rude invasion of light, followed by a loud _boom_. Two men exited the room, each wearing tactical vests stuffed with magazines. They clutched their bleeding ears and were pleading for mercy.

Mitchell saw no weapons at their disposal, and told Nolan to guard the two men to be escorted to the Pakistanis outside. Nolan watched over the two surrendered _Fedayeen _fighters as Ramirez joined Mitchell at the bottom of the stairs leading to the third floor.

Ramirez lifted his M4 up the stairs, and caught a flicker of movement from the third landing. A bald man in white pajamas was peering down over the stairs at them. Ramirez fired a single shot, but the man backed away from the stairs and disappeared into the nearest room.

"Captain, I think I have sighted the target!" Ramirez gasped.

Mitchell went up the stairs, confronting a man who jumped from the doorway, dressed in a tactical vest. He reached towards his chest as if to activate a bomb. Mitchell shot him in the forehead, then stepped over the body towards the third-floor bedroom door. It was halfway open, so Mitchell took out his M9 pistol and cocked it. Even though his M4—a compact version of the M16 assault rifle—was useful in close quarters, there was the risk of bullets over-penetrating his target. There were women and children in the compound, too. He couldn't risk killing them.

Ramirez stacked up on the door, readying his rifle. Mitchell then kicked open the door, finding the bedroom to be populated by three individuals: one man, one woman next to him, and one small child. The child was lying on the bed; the man was sheltered behind the woman.

"_Hands up!"_ Mitchell shouted in Arabic. He then locked eyes with his target—Mohammed Habib—aka _Rab'iah_ (so called after one of the Prophet Muhammad's closest companions).

"Go ahead, _soldier_." Habib sneered in half-Arabic/half-English, "_Shoot me!_ I'm already dead."

The woman then lunged at the Ghosts, screaming in Arabic, her hands in a defensive gesture. She was obviously Habib's wife or one of them at least.

Ramirez fired his M4, hitting the woman in the leg. She twisted and fell to the ground beside the bed. Her screaming stopped short, and she gasped for air.

Mitchell raised his Beretta M9 9-mm, fired two shots in Habib's chest and one into his head.

Mohammed Habib—_Rab'iah—_the terrorist weapons supplier to more than half-a-dozen countries, fell dead without a word, a victim of a Ghost's trained double-tap.  
Then, for once, there was silence in the house.


	5. Chapter 05

**TOM CLANCY's GHOST RECON: TERROR STORM**

**FIVE**

**Northern Baluchistan  
Pakistan  
23, January 2009 0115 hours**

Mitchell drew in a breath and looked over the fallen man's body. The soul patch of facial hair and bald head were soon covered in blood. His wife lay whimpering on the floor, her shattered leg preventing her from getting up. Mitchell exhaled slowly, "Ghost Lead to Lion One-One, report HVT EKIA, how copy?"

HVT EKIA = "High-Value Target, Enemy Killed in Action".

There was a pause before ISI Agent Ahmed al-Janoubi radioed back, "Roger that, we'll start our sweep for Intelligence. Just get your team exfiled out now."  
Mitchell looked down at the woman and her child, a boy of about eight-years-old. He had rushed to his mother's side and looked down at the gaping hole in her leg. Mitchell then switched frequencies, calling the field medic Nolan. "Alex?"

"Go for Alex."

"We have an injured woman who needs some patching up. See to it will you, third floor bedroom."

Within minutes, Nolan was beside the injured woman, applying sulfa powder and an Elastoplast to her leg, trying to be as gentle as he can.  
Ramirez stood there in shock, "I can't believe I shot a woman."

"You did what you had to do, Joe." Mitchell reminded him, knowing that the woman was within grabbing distance of an AK or a detonator for a suicide bomb belt, before looking over the body of Mohammed Habib one last time.

Ghost Leader took out a digital camera from a pouch on his webbing and snapped two pictures: one of the bloody face, and the other of the body. This would be sent back to USSOCOM for analysis and be included in the joint American-Pakistani investigation.

Two green-vested ISI soldiers barged into the room. One of them in a beret, holding the rank of a Colonel, barked in poor English, "You leave—_now!_"  
Mitchell pocketed the camera just as the ISI swept the room for evidence, bagging laptops, SIM cards, flash drives, cell phones, cameras, notebooks, the compound  
was a treasure trove of Intelligence. "Team, fall out." Mitchell ordered.

They waited until Nolan finished fitting the Elastoplast bandage to the now-widowed wife's leg before leaving the compound. Immediately, once they got out into the sunlight, they were joined by Brown, who was guarding the outer perimeter of the compound with some ISI soldiers. Some townspeople from down the street had come to ask what was going on, only to be turned away by Pakistani agents with machine guns. A truck containing a half-dozen soldiers from the Pakistani army had arrived on the scene to relieve the ISI of duty.

Mitchell's Cross-Com blinked and a green circle formed in a clearing just twenty yards away from the compound's concrete wall. His earpiece chimed, "Mitchell, we've designated an extraction zone for you. Our Black Hawk will pick your team up."

Then, on cue, an MHX-60 Black Hawk helicopter flew overhead, kicking up dirt and dust before coming to a rest within the green circle on Mitchell's HUD. Mitchell allowed Ramirez, Brown, and Nolan to board the helicopter first, with Mitchell mounting inside later. By now, the entire neighborhood had been awakened by the gunfire and explosions and the presence of military jeeps and helicopters. With the ISI and Pakistani commandos' on-scene providing cleanup, Mitchell could sit back and relax on the way back to FB Silva.

As the Black Hawk lifted off the ground, Nolan asked Mitchell, "So, when are we going after Usama bin Laden?"

"Yeah, Captain," Sergeant Marcus Brown backed up, "Why is that SOCOM is giving us small fish to fry? Why not go after the big prize?"

Mitchell knew field medic Alex Nolan's heroism to save injured victims from the Pentagon on September 11, as well as Brown's encounter with the horrifying news pictures in his girlfriend's apartment on that clear, cloudless day. Mitchell cleared his throat, "We're Ghosts. Nobody knows we exist, our existence is only known by only a few senior government officials, like the President of the United States of America. We aren't the only outfit in Al Qaeda's backyard. Delta, SEALs, Marine First Recon, we're all here for a purpose…to stop terrorism. Just be focused on the task at hand."

And, with that, Mitchell sat back on the rail and started to settle in to the twenty-minute helicopter flight to FB Silva.

However, a pang came into Mitchell's ear. A static of white noise, then followed by a crackle. "Mitchell, this is General Keating, USSOCOM."

Mitchell coughed, "Go ahead, General."

"CIA and Pakistani Intelligence have already analyzed the Intel seized at the Habib compound in Baluchistan. They concern many different rebel groups and terrorist factions in Africa, Asia, and Latin America. However, our most pressing information comes from Kashmir."

"Kashmir?" Mitchell inquired.

A digital map of the Indo-Pakistani border appeared in Mitchell's HUD. The map zoomed into the northeast at a mountain range situated between India and Pakistan. Coordinates flashed by Mitchell's eyes as General Keating spoke again, "Yes, Kashmir. We have rumors that Habib has sold two Russian M-11 missiles to a separatist movement in Kashmir to attack India."

Mitchell nervously swallowed.

Diagrams of a missile, broken down piece-by-piece and examined digitally, flashed on Mitchell's HUD. "The M-11 is an intermediate-range ballistic missile. We have reason to believe that the separatists' plan to launch the missiles within the hour. As we speak, the possibilities of a full-out nuclear war between India and Pakistan loom in the distance. Your helicopter is being rerouted to Kashmir immediately."

The Black Hawk helicopter pilot, Corporal Bud Winters, reached towards a GPS unit that was remote-piloting the helicopter. A new blip appeared on his radar screen. He punched in the new coordinates and the MHX-60 Black Hawk swung around to starboard to head into the mountainous terrain.

Captain Mitchell said to his team: Ramirez, Brown, and Nolan, "We've got new orders…Intel from the raid earlier today tells us that Habib is planning a missile strike into India. We're en route to the Kashmir Mountains now. Our job is to destroy Habib's missiles and eliminate any insurgents present in the area."

But Mitchell not needed to rally his men to prepare for the fight. Already determined to stand by their Ghost Leader, they nodded in concert.

Brown piped up, "I'm ready, Mitchell."

Ramirez echoed, "Let's go, then, Cap'n!"

"Hoo-Ah!" field medic Nolan whooped.

Mitchell sat back on the rail and observed as hot, scorching desert gave way to snowpack hills. Time was of the essence…The fates of hundreds of thousands of Indians and the brink of a nuclear confrontation between two already-simmering countries lay in the balance.


	6. Chapter 06

**TOM CLANCY's GHOST RECON: TERROR STORM**

**SIX**

**Kashmir Mountains, 50 clicks from the Line of Control (LOC)  
Indo-Pakistan border  
23, January 2009 0223 hours**

The helicopter touched down amidst a flurry of snow and frost. Captain Mitchell and Sergeant Marcus Brown, weapons out, jumped down to the ground and immediately were overcome with the moderate cold. The mountains ahead were impassable by helicopter, only navigable by goat paths cut into the hillside. That was where Mitchell would lead his team to find the M-11 missiles.

Mitchell waved on Rifleman Sergeant Joe Ramirez and field medic Alex Nolan as they leapt out of the Black Hawk and linked up with their leader. The helicopter then lifted off and turned away into the graying sky.

Pilot Bud Winters reported through Mitchell's Cross-Com, "Cap'n, we're at bingo fuel. Deadly One-One will be on station in ten—repeat—we have an Apache gunship heading your way for support."

Mitchell smiled, a fast-attack AH-64 helicopter fitted with Hellfire missiles and a thousand rounds of 30mm cannon would suit him well. He bid farewell to Bud Winters, on his way to refuel the Black Hawk on the Pakistani side of the Kashmiri Line of Control (LOC).

A video featuring General Keating then came into Mitchell's HUD. "Mitchell, proceed about two clicks north into the valley to clear out an insurgent anti-air nest. The missiles are hidden in a cave complex one click northwest of the insurgent's staging area in the village. You are to secure those missiles before they're launched and neutralize all militant presence in the area. How copy?"

Mitchell spoke into his radio, "This is Ghost Lead, we'll get it done. Over and out." And with that, he signaled his men to check their corners and move up the goat path. His HUD marked the terrorists' base camp, about 100 meters away. Mitchell trudged up the hill to get a higher vantage point. The path split into a fork, one way going high, another one staying low to the ground.

"Captain, I see something." Field Medic Alex Nolan hissed at Mitchell.

Mitchell held up a fist—a hand signal to halt—and got down low to the ground. He looked through the scope of his M4 and saw two men in robes, their faces covered.

Then, as one of them saw Mitchell, he reached behind him and took out an AK-47. Mitchell had no choice but to raise up his own weapon and shoot them.

As the two tangos dropped to the dirt path, the echo of the rifle bump reverberated throughout the mountains.

Mitchell advanced as a video patched into Mitchell's Cross-Com featuring Bud Winters, the Black Hawk pilot. "Captain Mitchell, we're giving you OPCON of a fully-functioning UAV drone to use in your mission. I'm uploading the drone's commands to your Cross-Com now." There was a pause, then a menu flashed across Mitchell's eyes. The drone, a UAV Cypher, shaped like a 1950s flying saucer object, came online.

Bud Winters added, "Use the drone to scout out enemy positions and the locations of enemy ordinance. These coordinates will be automatically synched to your HUD. Be careful when you use the drone in detection mode, as it can become vulnerable to enemy fire."

Instantly, a small picture-in-picture window appeared on the upper left-hand side of the HUD. Mitchell, using a PDA mounted to his wrist, navigated the UAV northward. There was a pause as the drone, silhouetted against the white sky, moved forward to scout ahead. Instantly, red diamonds blipped on Mitchell's HUD. Four hostiles were in the camp to the north, and one was on the high road cut into the cliff.

Mitchell rose up a hand, stopped the drone in mid-flight, and motioned for his men to get into a defensive position. Brown and Ramirez, as well as Nolan, covered Ghost Lead as Mitchell took up the high road. As he got closer, the insurgent with a machine gun on him was leaning over a flimsy wooden fence.

Like an afterthought, the Captain removed his KA-BAR combat knife; complete with a double-serrated side, and rubber grips. He snuck up behind the lone watchman with the skill and finesse of a panther. Mitchell grabbed the man from behind, putting a hand over his prey's mouth and thrusting the knife deep into the man's back. There was a little bit of a struggle, then the man went limp.

Lowering the insurgent to the ground and securing the man's AK, Mitchell ordered the remains of his squad to move up and flank the remaining insurgents in the camp.  
Mitchell then secured an overwatch position overlooking the camp. So far, the remaining tangos didn't see the American captain take out the man up above. "Ghosts, get in position!" Mitchell hissed.

Brown, Ramirez, and Nolan moved up to the campsite, complete with two large tents, one small tent, and two separate campfires. A few seconds later, Mitchell heard Ramirez say, 'We're in position, waiting on your go."

_Time to turn on the noise, _Mitchell thought. He touched a blip on his wrist-mounted PDA and observed the ROE change from blue to red. Like flipping on a light switch, the Ghosts maneuvered to their targets and opened up with their weapons. Mitchell accounted for one kill with his M4A1, Brown also got a downed insurgent, and Ramirez and Nolan both got two each, including a man with a rocket-launcher.

It had all happened in fifteen seconds, from the time the order was given to move up, to the change in the rules of engagement. The small terrorist outpost in the Kashmir Mountains had been neutralized, the entire enemy garrison eradicated.

Fifteen seconds.

For Captain Mitchell, there was no time to celebrate. They had to keep moving in order to find the missiles. Just then, a little help from General Keating at USSOCOM patched through into Mitchell's HUD. "Mitchell, our intelligence has revealed that the terrorists in possession of the M-11 missiles have two targets: Bombay and New Delhi. The cave complex is large and systematic, with an unknown number of hostiles. Sources say that the countdown has already started, so get in there and do your job!"

"Right." Mitchell acknowledged as General Keating signed off. He looked at his men, who had moved further into the outpost and secured the campsite. "Ghosts, let's go!" Mitchell then heard a faint _ping_ and saw on his HUD a yellow waypoint marker, 100 yards north-northeast. He then directed the UAV to scan the area ahead for more hostiles. Mitchell rallied with his men behind some RPG crates covered in camouflage webbing. Just then, there was a voice in Pashto which halted the team's advance and they took cover. Two men appeared out of the cave entrance, wearing green flecktard camouflage coats, clutching AKs; they wanted to investigate the ambush at the outpost.

"I see two riflemen," Ramirez whispered, "200 yards north-northeast."

Mitchell peeked his head above the RPG crates and raised his assault rifle.

One of the mountain men raised his AK-47 and called out in Pashto, "_Why is there shooting?"  
_  
Mitchell wouldn't give them an return reply; he let the M4 answer for them. Two consecutive three-round bursts dropped both gunmen to the ground.

"Clear, move up!" Mitchell ordered.

Ramirez, Brown, and Nolan moved up to enter the cave. Mitchell watched from his PDA as the UAV went into detection mode, using sonar calibration and scanned the cave complex for enemies. Four red diamonds lit up on the PDA, as well as a green objective marker. One of the missiles had been located. Mitchell looked away from his PDA, reloaded his M4, and moved to rejoin his team.

The young rifleman from San Diego whispered, "Ramirez, here, entrance to the cave is quiet."

"Time to go quiet for now," Mitchell answered, "Infiltrate and equip NODs."

"Roger." Came the chorused reply.

Mitchell moved up and donned his night-vision optics, changing the ROE from assault to recon. He hoped that the terrorists hadn't started the countdown early because of the gunfire from outside.

"Time to dig these guys out of their holes."


End file.
